


Poker Face

by hollyand



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Card Games, Dragon Age Reverse Big Bang, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-18 00:34:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2328749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyand/pseuds/hollyand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris wins a game of cards during a night at the Hanged Man. The gang make it pretty hard for him to keep a straight face, though.</p><p>Written for the 2014 Dragon Age Reverse Big Bang (DARBB). Inspired by <a href="http://carrionkings.tumblr.com/post/97850780711/i-keep-forgetting-he-makes-jokes-until-he-actually">this portrait of Fenris</a> by askrata.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poker Face

**Author's Note:**

> ‘Aw, come on, Broody,’ Varric’s voice cut in affectionately over the Hanged Man’s din. ‘You’ve barely said two words tonight. What’s bothering you this time?’

Fenris placed the dark wine bottle carefully on the table in front of him, and considered Varric’s question carefully before he spoke. ‘Does something  _need_  to be bothering me for me  _not_ to talk?’

‘Well,  _no_ ,’ Varric began, as he dealt out the cards, ‘I just thought you seemed, uh… particularly broody tonight.’

Fenris picked up the hand Varric had dealt him, his face expressionless as he turned them over. ‘I’m fine.’

Varric shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. Donnic, will Aveline be joining us for drinks later?’

‘She said she’ll try,’ Donnic answered with a confident smile, which quickly turned to a frown as he examined his own cards. Varric sat back in his chair with a wide smile, eyes firmly on Donnic’s face. Fenris chuckled internally. That dwarf didn’t miss a thing.

The game started; Fenris, continuing in the same vein as before, kept his face carefully neutral, as Varric proceeded to wipe the floor with Donnic. Donnic, of course, took his defeat in good humour, even as Varric grinned cockily and rubbed his hands in glee. Fenris remained determined to give nothing away; for once he had a good hand, and he was fairly sure the dwarf was bluffing.

‘Just as well I’m playing you and not your wife, Guardsman,’ Varric was saying, as Fenris spied Isabela sashaying into the Hanged Man’s taproom with Merrill and Sebastian in tow. ‘I don’t think our good Guard-Captain would be too happy with you playing that last hand.’

‘Maker, no!’ Donnic laughed; his hearty baritone rang out above the noise of the crowd and several patrons looked up in surprise. ‘Aveline gets angry when she loses. She’s not happy, you know, that we exclude her from our card-game nights at Fenris’s place. But, as much as I love my wife, I feel it is probably for the best.’

‘Ain’t that the truth,’ Varric cackled, and even Fenris cracked a smile. Fortunately, Varric’s attention was distracted by Isabela sliding into a spare seat at the table, with Merrill following suit and Sebastian close behind them. ‘Rivaini, Daisy, Choirboy, good of you to join us! Any of you know when Hawke and Anders are coming?’

‘No idea,’ Isabela answered cheerfully, putting her leather-booted feet up on the table and taking a swig from her bottle of ale, as Sebastian slipped into a chair on one side of Fenris, concern etched on his features. ‘So, boys. How’s the game going?’

‘How are you, Fenris?’ Sebastian asked him quietly as the others continued their conversation. ‘I hope you have been keeping well?’

Fenris turned to look at him, searching the other man’s sympathetic blue eyes for some hidden meaning or intent, but found none. Sebastian had been expressing his concern like this ever since Fenris had come face-to-face with Danarius and Varania, and while Fenris appreciated the other man’s friendship, it… was a new thing, to have friends, to have people who worried about his welfare and his thoughts and feelings, and Fenris didn’t always know how to react to it.

Card games of deceit were so much easier than people. Even people whom you liked and respected, and who liked and respected you in turn.

‘It… is getting better,’ Fenris admitted. He didn’t quite know how to tell the other man that even with Danarius gone, even though he was free from his past and his old life, freedom – his one goal, his one achievement – didn’t feel like he always thought it would. He felt lost, cast adrift, disconnected; for the past few weeks he’d been in and out of a daze, withdrawing from everything and everyone, surprised to find he felt as much rage and pain and hate and terror as he always had done, even with the cause of it all now dead – killed here in this very room with his own two hands.

It had been hard enough talking about this to Hawke, and Hawke had been there when it happened.

And Varania… Well. He was glad to see the back of her; of that one thing, he was certain. His feelings about Danarius had already been overwhelming enough; he couldn’t even start to process all the emotions he had about his sister.

But as each day passed, there had been odd moments of relief, like cracks of sunlight appearing through a darkened room. Amidst the doom and gloom, there had been brighter moments, glimpses of an endless future spread out before him, and slowly, Fenris had allowed himself to relax into the idea that his life was now utterly and entirely his to make, his to define, free of anyone or anything else unless it was his choice.

Life went on. Running errands with Hawke still went on. Card games at his mansion still went on. Card games at the Hanged Man with Varric and Donnic, like the one he was playing tonight, still went on; and slowly but surely, Fenris was easing himself into this life – a life that belonged, for once, to nobody but him.

But how to tell all this to a good friend like Sebastian, when he didn’t even have the words to express it to himself, was another matter entirely.

‘Freedom takes some getting used to,’ he eventually settled on saying. Sebastian nodded, his face still sympathetic.

‘I understand, Fenris,’ he said, his Starkhaven brogue low and kind. ‘It… is still a loss, even of something you wanted to lose, and you have the right to grieve it. I am here to talk, if you ever need me.’

Fenris bowed his head in assent. ‘Thank you, Sebastian. Your support means a lot to me.’

‘Anytime,’ Sebastian replied, leaning back in his chair just as Varric’s attention turned to him again, and Fenris’s attention gratefully returned to the here and now.

‘You in this round, Broody?’

Fenris picked up his bottle, gulped down a liberal amount of sweet red wine, and answered him. ‘I’m in.’

‘Still think you can win the coin from Isabela?’ Varric challenged him as he examined his own hand of cards, and Fenris allowed himself a small smirk as he slid a couple of silvers across the table to the coin pile.

‘I’m good for it.’

‘ _I’ll_  say,’ Isabela answered with a saucy wink, and Fenris had to suppress a chuckle. The dwarf could say what he liked, but Fenris was determined not to give away any indication that he had the best hand in a card game in ages. No way was Varric going to win tonight, cheating or otherwise.

‘Uh-uh, Rivaini,’ Varric said as he and Donnic began to play their turns, ‘you keep your kind of “good for it” well away from this table. Right now we are strictly about cards and sovereigns, nothing else.’

‘But how else would Fenris win from Isabela?’ Merrill piped up, frowning, while everyone at the table chortled and shook their heads affectionately. Six years in Kirkwall yet in some ways Merrill had not changed a bit, Fenris marvelled to himself, although he was undecided whether this was a good thing or not.

‘Think about it, Kitten,’ Isabela told her, patient as always. ‘It’ll come to you.’

‘Oh!’ Merrill chirped, eyes wide. ‘You’re going to challenge him to a duel?’

‘Well, if he ever lets me,’ Isabela answered, winking again at an amused Fenris, ‘I would hope we’d have  _another_ sort of duel in mind.’

Merrill opened her mouth to ask more questions, but realisation dawned, and her face turned red and splotchy. ‘Oh,’ she eventually said. ‘I missed something dirty again, didn’t I.’

‘ _Merrill_ ,’ came Hawke’s voice from behind her, warm and kind, before the man himself sat down with a bottle of ale in one hand and clapped Merrill on the back with the other. ‘Sorry I’m late, everyone. How’s the game going?’

‘No Blondie with you?’ Varric asked.

‘Oh, he’ll be along in a minute, he said he had some business to attend to,’ Hawke said, voice casual, though Fenris could see the strain in the man’s eyes. Fenris noticed Varric raising his eyebrows – as if to say  _Well! There’s a story there that I want to know_  – and silently agreed. Hawke had seemingly taken the whole Champion of Kirkwall thing in his stride, all the responsibilities and burdens that had entailed; but Anders… well, Anders and Hawke hadn’t been getting on so well ever since Anders’s evasiveness over some sort of distraction at the Chantry.

Or so Fenris had been told.

As if he had read Fenris’s thoughts, Sebastian spoke up.

‘Nothing to do with the Chantry again, I hope?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Hawke said, not meeting his eyes. ‘Maker, this ale is foul. What do you suppose Corff has put in it this time?’

‘Drink enough of it, and you won’t notice the taste,’ Isabela advised him. ‘Or you could be like Fenris over there, and only let the very finest wine grace your lips. Isn’t that what you nobles are supposed to  _do_  up in your fancy Hightown mansions?’

Fenris ignored the provocation, as playfully as it was meant, and focused on the card Varric had placed on the table. He  _had_  to concentrate; Varric was far too sharp-eyed to play casually against, and even the tiniest tell, even the tiniest change in his poker face, would give the entire game away. And the stakes were particularly high tonight. Fenris’s eyes fell on the gleaming pile of coins gathered in front of Varric, who sat back in his chair, looking like the cat that had got the cream.

‘Oooh,’ Merrill started, leaning over and checking out the cards splayed out in his hand, and Fenris finally broke his practised neutral expression to glare sharply at her. ‘You’ve certainly arranged your cards very prettily, Fenris,’ she chattered on, completely ignoring his stony stare. ‘Although is that supposed to be…?’

‘Avert your eyes, witch!’

‘It’s impossible to talk to you,’ she grumbled, as Fenris gathered his cards to his chest, half in annoyance and half in panic. ‘I was only trying to…’

‘Whatever it was you were about to say, don’t.’

‘Merrill,’ Isabela said kindly, putting her empty ale bottle on the table, ‘I think Fenris wants to keep his cards a secret from the other players. By the looks of it, they’re playing for big money tonight.’

Merrill went red again and muttered something like ‘was only just trying to make conversation’, but Isabela indicated for both of them to head to the bar for more drinks. Fenris breathed a sigh of relief. With Varric now peering at him, eyebrow raised, and Donnic mirroring the dwarf’s expression, Fenris had indeed been worried that all his careful planning, his careful concealing of all body language and facial giveaways would be rudely undone by that… that  _maleficar_. Fenris slowly lowered the cards from his chest.  _Fasta vass_. He had to get his focus back.

Fenris chanced a glance round the table as the game played on. Hawke was deep in conversation with Sebastian, but every so often his eyes would wander anxiously over to the Hanged Man’s entrance door; while Isabela and Merrill were at the bar, Isabela heartily regaling the elf with some baudy tale or another, which Merrill was giggling at. Varric was watching Donnic with the face of a predator ready to pounce, while Donnic resolutely played on, despite his wretchedly awful hand.

‘Oh dear, I’m not having a good night tonight,’ Donnic laughed at one point. ‘I fold.’

‘Aww, come on!’ Varric cried, though as usual, he was clearly having a good time. ‘Don’t give in so easily. Fenris, will you fold as well?’

‘No,’ said Fenris, laying a card down in front of them. Varric raised his eyebrow again; Fenris shot him a challenging look. Varric’s confident demeanour faltered – just for a split second, but Fenris saw it all the same; and Fenris revelled in being able, for once, to cause a momentary chink in the cocky dwarf’s armour, no matter how subtly it flickered by. Internally, Fenris smiled. Varric would not best him tonight.

A sharp wind blew in from the door; Aveline had now entered, throwing the rickety wooden door in a wide arc as she did so; and after her green eyes briefly scanned the room to locate them, she nodded to their table and strode over to the crowded bar to join Isabela and Merrill in getting drinks. Fenris, at least, had been glad at the sight of her; Donnic had started to sweat.

‘Oh this is glorious,’ Varric said, voice smug as he called Donnic’s bluff and won. ‘Let’s hope your wife stays at the bar long enough that she doesn’t witness how much coin you’re down tonight.’

Donnic merely smiled, agreeable as always.

‘Well, I trounced you thoroughly at Fenris’s the last time we played. I suppose it’s only fair that I let you have your turn, Varric.’

‘That’s if the elf doesn’t clear us both out tonight,’ Varric retorted, shooting a look at Fenris, who kept his features impassive as he answered.

‘Perhaps.’

Varric’s clever eyes bored into Fenris’s, trying to discern some insight into either Fenris’s tactics or the hand he had been dealt; but the elf simply met his gaze coolly, levelly, giving away nothing. Eventually, the dwarf shrugged and decided to continue their game.

Fenris sniggered quietly to himself. It was getting harder to hold in his glee, and he could only pray the game would be over soon.

And not just for Donnic’s sake. He gazed pityingly at the guardsman perspiring next to him, his friend in most things but his rival in this particular moment. Aveline was attempting to muscle her way through the drunken patrons gathered round Corff at the bar, and fortunately right now, to no avail.

The door banged open again, and Anders appeared in the doorway, black feathers on his coat ruffled and blond hair windswept. For a split second he appeared lost, then seemed to recover and head straight for their table; Hawke and Sebastian visibly stiffened as Anders stalked past their seats. Fenris bristled inside at his presence in the tavern, but made a mental note to ask either Hawke or Sebastian what was going on later.

Anders had now appeared on the other side of Varric, his face now thrown into relief by the table’s candlelight, silent and scowling; and Fenris could see that beneath the mage’s outward projection of defiance, he was looking paler and more gaunt than usual. Briefly he wondered what in Thedas could be troubling the abomination  _this_  time, but Donnic and Varric were drawing his attention back to the game.

‘I’m calling your bluff again, Guardsman.’

‘Ouch,’ Donnic said, good-natured as always. Varric cackled in glee and made to clear away the coin pile, when Fenris decided to speak up.

‘I’m calling  _your_  bluff, Varric,’ Fenris said, unable to contain his grin anymore. ‘Here.’

Fenris spread his remaining cards on the table to a sharp intake of breath from Donnic and an exclamation of wonder from Varric.

‘Maker’s breath,’ Donnic said, awed. ‘I stood no chance tonight.’

‘I’d say we  _both_  stood no chance tonight,’ Varric said when he’d recovered from the shock of losing, pushing the handsome pile of sovereigns Fenris’s way. ‘Well played, Broody, very well played. I knew you were up to something – you were far too quiet tonight, even for you – but I just couldn’t work out what it was.’

Fenris chuckled. ‘I warned you I was good for it,’ he said, still grinning, giddy with pride and happiness. ‘You would do well not to under-estimate your opponents in future, Varric.’

‘Touché,’ Varric grinned back, as Isabela, Merrill and Aveline sauntered back over. Aveline and Merrill clattered their tankards of beer onto the table, while Isabela, with two bottles of ale in her hands and a smirk on her face, slunk gracefully into a seat, honey eyes sparkling mischievously.

‘You’re very smiley all of a sudden, Fenris,’ Merrill observed as she sat down, evidently refreshed from her time at the bar. ‘Did you win?’

‘I did,’ Fenris beamed at her, in far too good a mood to snap at her – or indeed, at anyone.

‘ _I’ll_  say,’ Isabela chimed in, keenly eyeing the pile of sovereigns and silvers in front of him. ‘Look at all that coin! Surely you can easily afford another game, Fenris? With  _me_  this time?’

‘Heh. Thanks, but I’m good,’ he smirked, while Donnic and Varric frantically shook their heads.

‘I think I’ve parted with enough coin tonight,’ Donnic said, ruefully, while Aveline sipped her beer and pretended not to hear him.

‘Spoilsport,’ grumbled Isabela, turning her attention round the table. ‘Anyone else care for another game? I feel like winning some coin myself tonight.’

‘Gambling is a sin,’ Sebastian attempted to remind her, while the rest of the table murmured their dissent.

‘Oh, don’t you go all preachy on me,’ Isabela shot back, taking another swig of her ale. ‘I’m not nearly drunk enough for your lecturing.’

‘It wasn’t meant to be a lecture,’ Sebastian attempted to explain, ‘merely a reminder that asking me, as a brother of the Chantry, to gamble would be –’

‘I’m going to get something from the bar,’ Anders finally said, standing up; Fenris relaxed as he watched the mage go, and was curious that Hawke was visibly doing the same.

‘Good game, Fenris,’ Hawke said at last. ‘Good to see you take Varric down a peg or two.’ He grinned affectionately at the dwarf.

‘Ah, Hawke, you wound me,’ Varric said, his cocky demeanour having returned as he sipped his glass of wine. ‘Although what he’ll do with all that coin is anyone’s guess.’

Fenris shrugged. ‘Maybe I’ll buy the Hanged Man.’

‘Really?’

‘No.’

‘Well, will you look at that,’ Varric said in friendly mock sarcasm, relaxing in his chair and holding his glass of wine. ‘The broody elf attempts a joke. We should celebrate!’

Fenris chuckled. ‘And you thought I was always serious.’


End file.
